Life in Exile

Chapter 19: A Plan

Twice a week, Thorin met with his twelve companions to play music. They always played his song, which he had written and transposed into scores for each instrument. Thorin's song was finally named Misty Mountains Cold, and it was a very popular song in Ered Luin and in the lands of Dunland where some exiled Dwarves still thrived. The thirteen musicians did lack some diversity in melody, however, as Dori, Nori, and the latest addition, Ori, all played flutes and only occasionally would Balin join them with his bagpipes instead of soloing. Balin had always suggested fiddles, but no one would dare change the instrument they had played in decades to learn something entirely new and as skill-demanding as a fiddle. Thorin had some knowledge, but it was very basic, and he had repressed that memory because he had taken that lesson much to his dislike.

One summer evening, Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur were all late. Some wondered if they had to work later than usual, or if Bombur had stopped them for a meal along the way.

"Aye, y'know that sweet Ms. Gulla, always makin' those biscuits," Oin said.

Dori hushed him, "Don't make me hungry!"

"If food was gold, that'd be those biscuits!" Gloin chimed in.

Thorin looked over from where he sat towards Gloin, "I am sorry that we are keeping you away from your son," he said. Gloin chuckled and shook his head, "I'm glad! That little bugger is a handful! I needed out of there!"

"How do you sleep?" Dwalin asked, with a smirk under his large beard, meaning that he already knew the answer. Gloin stuck the reed of his clarinet in his mouth and grumbled, "Do not speak of my sleep, for I have none anymore." Dwalin let out a laugh. Dori turned to him sharply, "Oi, just wait until you have one of your own!"

Bofur and Bombur suddenly entered the room, Bofur had Bifur waddling abnormally by his side. The room let out a gasp, as everyone noticed at the same moment that Bifur had something stuck in his head. It looked to be the end of a small axe, or a broken piece of a real one. The area was surrounded with dried blood. "By Durin's beard!" Oin exclaimed. He almost threw his clarinet down and rushed up to Bifur, "I ought to take him away right now!" Bofur gently pushed him back, "No, no! It's alright! He's fine!"

"He's fine?!" Dwalin cried. He pointed to Bifur's head, "Yer sayin' that that is fine?!"

"He told us that he feels fine!" Bofur assured, "It's a miracle!"

"Can you speak?" Dori asked Bifur, but Bifur only responded in Khuzdul. Dori blinked, "I guess that is a yes?"

Thorin studied the injured Dwarf, then frowned, "He shall not play with us," he said. His eyes then flashed to Oin, "I want you to check him." Bifur objected, saying that he was truly fine and that he wanted to play tonight. Thorin narrowed his eyes at him, "Are you sure? You have just suffered a major—" Bifur pushed his way through Bofur and the others, picked up his clarinet, stuck the reed in his mouth for an astonishingly quick moment, then placed the reed on the clarinet's mouthpiece, before playing a perfect E-flat major concert scale up and down. Everyone turned to Thorin, their eyes shock-ridden, for approval. Thorin was just as shocked himself, and gave Bifur a nod, "Very well, as long as you feel up to it."

"May we start now, lads?" Balin asked.

"Wait!"

Everyone turned to Bombur, who had a biscuit in his hands. He quickly stuffed it in his mouth and tried to finish it as much as possible. Just when the others thought that he was finished, he pulled out a second biscuits. The room was soon filled with a harmonious baritone groan. Thorin caught two familiar figures peering into the room and set his harp down on the stand that stood behind him. His stern eyes on his nephews made them come forward submissively.